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Tis the season to pick up holiday reads at awesome prices! You know you have a road trip scheduled to Grandma’s house in the near future, or if you are lucky, a flight to a warm white-sand beach. Either way, you will need to take along a great book to pass the time on the road or in the air.

Looking for a fun, new series with plenty of mystery, murder, and romance to goaround? Check out my Double Barrel Mysteries series. If you want to start at the beginning of the series, pick up a copy of book one, ROADKILL.

In book two, Much Ado About Murder, Blake and Shelby Gunner are setting up residence in Port Scuttlebutt and opening their own private investigations office. Hope you enjoy the excerpt below!

Shelby could hear the whine of the electric saw when she stepped out on the porch with her cup of coffee. Vanilla bean scented steam rose in the cold autumn air as she held her cup between the palms of her hands and sipped. She shivered in spite of wearing an angora sweater beneath a quilted jacket. It was hard to believe that days before Blake was working shirtless down at the boathouse. Today he’d need to wear long johns and flannel. It was already beginning to feel like Christmas. All they needed was snow.

The radio came on in the kitchen where Alice was busy mixing bread dough. It sounded like the weather report. Shelby gulped the rest of her lukewarm coffee and slipped back inside to catch the news. Maybe there would be something about the murder. The police had been tight-lipped about the case when Blake showed up asking questions. Even the brotherhood-of-blue mantra did little to open the way for him.

Blake was still upstairs sleeping, but he’d be down soon. He had an invitation to visit his grandmother at the big house for lunch. Apparently it was a single invitation, since he hadn’t invited her along, but that was okay. She had plans as well.

“Sounds like we might get snow by tonight,” Alice said, turning the radio down when the commercials came on. She slipped a clean towel over the lump of dough in the mixing bowl, and slid it closer to the stove to rise. “Good thing Mr. Dugan started early today. Maybe he’ll have the office windows and door in for you by this evening.”

“That would be wonderful.” Shelby refilled her cup from the carafe and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Especially if he turns out to be guilty.”

“Guilty? Did you find something incriminating out there at his place?” Alice peered over the refrigerator door as she pulled breakfast items from the shelves. “I mean… that would be terrible. For Tucker’s dad especially.”

Shelby shook her head. “Nothing like that. But we didn’t find anything to prove his innocence either, so…” she shrugged.

“Hey. Loose lips sink ships,” Blake said from the doorway. He pulled an imaginary zipper across his mouth. “Mrs. Private Eye, may I have a word with you?”

“Don’t worry,” Alice said, “I haven’t had time to get all the juicy details out of her yet.”

Shelby followed Blake into the sitting room and faced him, hands on her hips. “What was that all about? Paranoid much? If anyone in this town can be trusted, Alice can.”

“I know that. But sometimes things slip out inadvertently. I want to keep this ring business under wraps for the time being. I haven’t even questioned Pete Dugan about whether he knew his ex-wife was seeing someone else or not. First things first. Okay?”

“Fine. I won’t mention the ring to anyone.”

He stepped closer and tipped her chin up with one finger. “You know how beautiful you look when you’re peeved with me?”

“I’m not peeved. I just don’t like lying to my friends.” She’d done enough of that growing up. Lying to protect her alcoholic father from losing his job, lying to keep the social workers away, lying to bill collectors, the landlord, her friends.

“You don’t have to lie, babe. They’ll understand if you tell them you can’t talk about it. The same way you understood when I couldn’t share everything about the cases I worked on as a detective. Information is key. We have to keep it to ourselves until the exact right moment. Get it? Surprise attack. We want to get a natural, unguarded look at our suspect’s true feelings. Most people wear a façade, especially when they feel cornered.

“Now our client is a suspect?”

“Until I’ve proved otherwise.”

She leaned into him and he drew her close. She closed her eyes and breathed in his just-showered scent. “You smell like fresh strawberries.”

“I used your fruity shampoo. Mine was empty.”

“It smells good on you,” she said, nuzzling his neck.

“Hold on now.” He moved back out of reach, a silly grin on his face. “Are you trying to get an invitation to lunch, or…?”

“I can’t believe you’d think that. Only married four years and you’re already pouring sand on the flames.”

His brows came together. “Are you messing with me?”

“Of course. Who else would I mess with?” She reached out and tugged him back by the collar of his shirt. “Now kiss me before I leave. I’m going to the café for a chat with Luanne.”

“Heaven help us all,” he said, and then gave her a proper goodbye kiss.

~~~

Thanks for stopping! Hope you enjoyed this excerpt. Please leave a comment below.

I know I keep saying that book 2 in the Double Barrel Mysteries is in the works and coming soon. And it is! But whipping up a murder, clues, suspects, and opportunity, setting it all in the quirky little town of Port Scuttlebutt, and writing entertaining dialogue for my married sleuths, Blake and Shelby Gunner, takes time and finesse and lots and lots of chocolate and licorice breaks.

But because I’ve made you wait much longer than I anticipated, and you must wait a bit longer yet, here is an excerpt from Double Barrel Mystery #2(title yet to be determined) for your enjoyment!

Excerpt:

Blake leaned over the sawhorse and braced one hand on the 2X4 he was cutting. The smell of pine floated on the air as the sharp-toothed handsaw steadily chewed through the wood, leaving a sprinkling of sawdust below. Sweat dripped from his brow and soaked his white t-shirt, making it cling to his chest like a second skin. A length of sawed off wood dropped to the ground and he straightened, a look of satisfaction in his blue eyes.

“Okay, I was wrong,” Shelby said, eyeing him with renewed respect. “You really do know your way around a construction site, babe. I never should have doubted you.”

“I told you I worked with a construction crew for six months before I became a cop.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you’d look so good in a tool belt you could sell chain saws to old ladies.” She shielded her eyes with one hand, looking up at the house. “Hey, isn’t that Tucker’s pickup in the driveway? I wonder what he’s doing here.”

“Probably came by to see Alice over his lunch break.”

“I don’t think so. He’s headed this way.”

Blake leaned the 2X4 against the sawhorse and slanted her a grin. “Maybe we can put him to work. The sooner we get these offices finished, the sooner we can take on clients and pay for the place. Double Barrel Investigations may have been your brain child, but I got to be truthful with you Shel… when it comes to wielding a hammer, you suck.”

“If that’s your idea of flattery, I’d hate to be on your bad side.”

“I haven’t got a bad side,” he said flexing his muscles.

She rolled her eyes, trying not to grin. “Who do you think you are, Fabio?”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

He held out the newly sawn board.

She shook her head.

“You want me to do it?”

“You’re the master.

While Blake was busy pounding the 2X4 into place, Tucker stepped into the gutted boathouse. He gazed around with wide-eyed interest at the office area they were busy framing. The smack of the hammer echoed off the walls before Blake turned around with a welcoming grin.

“Hey, Skeleton! You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” Tucker’s gaze narrowed.

“To help us out. As I recall, you’re an experienced drywall installer.”

“A part-time job for one summer doesn’t make me an expert.”

Blake shrugged. “Okay. You’re a wet-behind-the-ears drywall installer. But we could still use your help. At this rate, we won’t be done before the snow flies.”

The boathouse had been set on fire a month earlier, damaging the entire front wall, door, and part of the roof. Blake had torn down the charred wood, leaving the entrance open to the elements for now. They planned to keep the exterior as rustic as before, while updating the front section with insulated walls and flooring for the offices of their new business. Another door would lead to the rear of the boathouse and the lake beyond. There was still ample room to store a small sailboat there if they ever found spare money in their budget to purchase one.

Tucker slipped his hands in the front pockets of his oversized green hoodie and leaned nonchalantly on one hip. “I’ll do you one better. What if I could promise you free help from a real construction expert?”

“That has the definite twang of tight strings attached.”

Shelby gave Blake a playful swap on the backside. “Looking a gift horse in the mouth much?” She grinned at Tucker. “Don’t mind him. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. What’s your deal?”

“It’s not exactly my deal. Just think of me as your agent. I have a client for you who’d be willing to pay your fees in hard labor.”

“Bartering? How medieval.”

“Wait a minute. A client? What are we investigating? A cheating spouse?” Blake’s brows pulled together.

“Hear him out, Gun. After all, beggars can’t be choosers. We need the help.”

“Fine. Who cheated on who?” he asked, slipping the hammer into the loop on his tool belt.

Tucker shook his head. “You got it all wrong. This is serious and right up your alley. Pete Dugan and my father go way back. They’ve been friends since high school. Dad wanted me to ask you if you would take on this case as a personal favor to him.”

“Well, I can’t really say no to that, can I?”

Shelby sat on an overturned bucket. “What are we investigating?”

“Pete found a body buried on his property a couple days ago and now the police are treating him like their number one suspect. He thinks someone set him up and he needs you to help clear his name.”

“A murder?”

“Looks that way. Bodies don’t usually bury themselves, do they?” Tucker asked with a straight face.

Blake stroked a hand over his jaw, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Shelby knew he was intrigued and ready to take off in pursuit of a killer, happily leaving manual labor behind. She could see his wheels spinning already. He was still a cop at heart, despite his forced retirement last year after a shooting that left him with a bum leg and a burning desire to move back to his hometown.

“The police don’t usually jump to conclusions without good reason,” he said. “Who was the victim?”

Tucker cleared his throat and his gaze shifted to the partially framed wall. “Dugan’s ex-wife.”

Blake’s laughter was anything but mirthful. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A man’s ex-wife turns up buried on his property and you think it’s strange the police view him as a suspect? Nine times out of ten it’s the husband or boyfriend.”

“I know. I know. But my dad is certain Pete’s innocent and I had to ask.” He blew out a breath and slowly backed toward the dock. “Sorry to interrupt your work.”

“Hold on!” Shelby jumped up and ran to Tucker. Clasping his hand, she tugged him gently back. “Blake didn’t say no. He’s just stating facts. That doesn’t mean your father’s friend is a murderer. He may well be that one time out of ten. Right, Blake?” she said, shooting him a hard look.

He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll talk to him. But I can’t promise anything. If I think he’s guilty of murder, hell or high water won’t keep me from assisting the police in their case.”

“That’s fair.” Tucker gave a short nod and dug his pickup keys out of his pocket. “I’ll let Dad know.”

“Your dad was always good at seeing through lies and deception, Tuck.” Blake swiped sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. “He certainly never fell for any of our wild stories. So it’s hard to believe he’d be a lifelong friend to a man capable of murder. I’m going to work this case on the assumption that Pete Dugan is an innocent man, because I trust your dad’s instincts.”

“Thanks.”

“What about the construction help?” Shelby reminded him. “If Blake and I are investigating the murder, someone has to be here to finish this.”

“Dugan was a construction foreman for over thirty years. He’s newly retired, but if he’s anything like my dad he’ll jump at the chance to get back into it.”

“Great!” Blake threw up his hands and huffed. “We’re back where we started.”

“Quit being a whiner, Acky Breaky. I got this covered. If Mr. Dugan chooses to pay you in cash rather than hard labor – which I can’t see happening – I promise to come back and help out as much as I can. I’ve got a new kid working part-time at the store now and he’d probably love some extra hours.”

“Thanks, Tuck,” Shelby gave him a hug and wasn’t surprised to feel ribs beneath his baggy sweatshirt. He definitely lived up to his nickname. He ate like a three hundred pound linebacker but never seemed to gain an ounce. “You should stop up at the house and have some of that raspberry pie Alice baked this morning. You are wasting away.”

“I thought you told me you were working out,” Blake said.

Tucker lifted a brow. “This is me in the best shape of my life. You can’t see it? I’m totally ripped. Alice says I’m buff.”

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,” Shelby teased.

His cell buzzed and he slipped it out to read the message. “What a coincidence. I’ve been invited for a slice of pie. Later, you two!”

ps. ENTANGLED and CHOSEN are both still FREE at all online stores as well. Get your copies to read over the holidays!

Thanks for stopping! Leave a comment and tell me what you think about the excerpt!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery Novels, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, The Second Chances series, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and ROADKILL, the 1st book in the new Double Barrel Mysteries. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and pups.

In celebration of the release of the third Fredrickson Winery Novel this week, I’m revisiting the first two novels in the series. Today I have an excerpt for you from ENTANGLED.

Enjoy!

Dreams of shadows hovering over me stole the restfulness from my sleep, and I woke still tired and irritable. I got up and moved about the room, admiring the view from my window, and taking a closer look at the artwork on the walls. In here too was an assortment of paintings, abstract and bold in composition, frightening in intensity. I didn’t like them and blamed the room’s heightened atmosphere for my less than adequate nap. I promised myself that I would take them down and store them in the back of the closet before I slept in here again.

I stole into my mother’s room and saw that she was still sleeping, a little mascara smudged beneath her eyes, but her hair quite perfect in its protective shell of spray. Mother was one of those people who always woke fresh as a spring flower, happy and talkative. When I woke, no matter how long I slept or how still I lay, I always looked like Attila the Hun after a night of pillaging and mayhem.

The sound of a child singing wafted through the open window, and I tiptoed past the bed where Mother slept to lift a slat of the closed blinds and peer out. Our rooms were situated at the back of the house where the view of the vineyards was obscured by dozens of full-grown oak, redwood, and eucalyptus trees. A small boy of about six was sitting in a tire swing, suspended from the branch of a tall oak. He pushed his bare feet against the ground for momentum as he sang at the top of his voice.

“Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys…”

I watched him for a moment, a smile on my lips, as he swung higher and higher, his voice floating up into the branches of the trees. Suddenly I felt a shiver run down my spine as the scene changed and I imagined myself as a little girl sitting in that tire, swinging back and forth, back and forth, like the pendulum on a clock, unable to stop or get off.

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t remembering this place, that swing, the week I spent here as a child. I blew out a breath of exasperation, realizing my imagination was working overtime. My father had hung a tire from a large maple tree in our yard in Minneapolis when I was seven. That’s what I remembered. I’d fallen out of the thing one time and broke my arm. I turned away from the window and silently exited into the hall, closing the door behind me.

Exploring the house alone was like rummaging through a stranger’s underwear drawer. I felt strangely voyeuristic. I knew it would all belong to me eventually, once the paperwork went through, but I didn’t necessarily relish the idea. Inheriting “holdings” was one thing, but becoming the proud owner of someone else’s toilet brush, kitchenware, and music collection was quite another. I made a mental note to schedule a yard sale as soon as possible.

The kitchen door opened into the backyard, and I went out in search of the boy. Was he one of the field worker’s sons or a neighbor child wandering aimlessly, looking for entertainment in the long afternoon? I followed a path of stepping-stones through the trees to the back section of the house where I’d seen him swinging. The tire hung empty now, but still moved gently with the breeze as though a ghostly hand were in control. I stood there a moment, straining for the sound of his voice in the distance, but there was nothing but the creak of the branches above me and the rattle of leaves in the wind.

I walked toward the front of the house, following the flagstone path back past the kitchen windows and on around to the garage. Rose bushes climbed a trellis along the outside wall, reaching for the sun, their blooms a deep, startling red against the pale brick. I picked one and held it beneath my nose, breathing in the heavy, sweet fragrance that I loved, enjoying the touch of the delicate petals against my skin.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping closer. He’d changed clothes at some point. Now wearing khaki slacks, a pale blue polo shirt, and a dark blue sport-jacket, his hair combed straight back from his forehead; he looked like a model for a sailing magazine. “Did you find everything to your satisfaction?” he asked.

I met his gaze, my eyes narrowed against the setting sun, and nodded politely the way I’d been raised to. My mother would be so proud. “Yes, thank you.”

“Well, if you and your mother are interested I could give you a tour of the winery before dinner.”

“My mother is sleeping. Traveling always wears her out. But I’d be interested, if it’s not a bother,” I said, giving him my brightest smile. Perhaps the old adage was true, you caught more flies with honey. Not that I wanted to catch him. I just wanted to be treated with respect, and ironically, also admired for my long legs.

“No bother. Most of the employees have gone for the evening. You won’t be in the way now,” he said, as though my presence earlier would have set back wine production indefinitely. “Shall we go?”

I breathed in the heady fragrance of the rose bushes once more before following Handel Parker toward the winery.

There is also a Goodreads giveaway going on right now! Enter for your chance to win a paperback of SAVOR

~~~

Thanks for stopping!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery novels, Entangled, Crushed & Savor, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, and Christian suspense novels, Running Home and Alias Raven Black. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and two lovable mutts.

SAVOR will be available September 29th at all online stores & in paperback. Check back at your favorite store to Pre-Order. Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, and Apple should have it available for pre-orders soon!

Savor the moment, cause it just might be your last…

Newly married and trying to keep the romance flowing along with the wine, Billie and Handel find themselves knee-deep in another mystery. Defending a wealthy San Francisco businessman against capital murder, Handel soon discovers that media attention brings more than fame and fortune. When Billie’s life is threatened and someone starts vandalizing winery property, he believes it’s connected to the case.

Across the vineyard, Margaret has problems of her own. Davy’s Italian grandfather comes to town and starts right in where his son left off. Throwing the weight of his money around, and using the rash of vandalism as a weapon, he tries to prove that Davy would be safer and better off living with him in Italy.

Romance is in the air at the Fredrickson Winery this summer. Sip a glass of Sangria and fall in love with the characters all over again.

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While you are waiting for the release of SAVOR, here is another exciting novel to pass the time… SPLIT SENSE

FREE for the weekend, Sept. 7-8 only! If you have been leery about picking this one up because you just don’t know if speculative suspense is for you, now is the time to set those qualms aside. Trust me. You’ll like it. You may love it. It’s still my favorite of the books I’ve published and I wouldn’t lie to you. Download it today!

SPLIT SENSE

When a senator and pharmaceutical giant partner to experiment with a new drug on pregnant women, they tap into a world they never knew existed – the supernatural touching the natural – and it will cost the innocent more than they know. Split Sense interweaves the lives of two families, twins separated at birth, and two different but powerful gifts that each child discovers which impacts their lives in unbelievable ways.

Barbara

Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery novels, Entangled & Crushed, the award winning thriller, Split Sense, and Christian suspense novels, Running Home and Alias Raven Black. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and two lovable mutts.

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When a senator and pharmaceutical giant partner to experiment with a new drug on pregnant women, they tap into a world they never knew existed – the supernatural touching the natural – and it will cost the innocent more than they know. Grace Awards Winner! More info →